Weighing the Options
by nomnomcrash
Summary: Anders contemplates his feelings.


There was nothing harder for Anders to do, to hide his feelings beneath his skin, to hide who he was, in a sense, for protection. Yes, he hid his feelings of anger and fear from Varric, or Fenris, or Aveline, even for soft, innocent Merrill and her impossible naivety. Yet, to hide the strong feelings he felt for Hawke, day by day, following her to the ends of Thedas and back, even to the blighted Deep Roads, all for what? For her protection or for him? This was hard for even him to decide.

He sighed as he worked late, writing his manifesto, as was usual for him. It was better than the nightly anguish, his fingers itching for her skin on their tips, his lips wishing to feel hers upon them. That was how Anders spent his nights when away from his writing and away from his patients, unable to sleep in his cot, a fact of which she had noticed and pointed out in annoyance. It was touching for him, to hear her worry about him, though there was hardly any reason for her to care about his well being, being what he was.

An apostate. An abomination. _We are not an abomination._ Justice protested every instance which the Spirit had thought so, like Justice had that night, after Anders had almost killed that innocent mage girl. _One innocent life is not worth forgetting our cause, Mage._ Justice reminded. No, not Justice, not since joining with a being as filled with rage as Anders. No, Vengeance took the Spirit's place, the lives of innocents and a few of the same mages they were to help mattered not when they would win in the long run. But by what means would they succeed? At the death of hundreds, thousands, of innocent men, women, and children? The death of friends, the death of the only ones to dare close?

_That Elf is against our cause, it may be beneficial if he died for our cause._

"I am not killing Fenris for your games, Vengeance." Anders said aloud, rubbing his temples lightly. He felt the spirit retreat into the further reached of their mind, though not before voicing it's displeasure and cursing the mage's ignorance. It was peaceful for once, as it had not been for months and certainly not the last few hours, where the spirit had come to the forefront of their mind, refusing to retreat after the incident with the mage girl and Ser Alric. The peace would allow time for his manifesto, time for him to fall into his writing enough to actually finish, to _actually_ get the rest of the blighted paper done.

For once, he had the time to wonder what everyone else was up to. Varric and Isabella, no doubt, were getting drunk to their eyeballs in the Hanged Man, maybe playing a game or two of Wicked Grace with Merrill. (She was getting better, no way anyone could deny that. Varric must have been teaching her to keep her face straight; she almost beat him last time. Almost.) Fenris was more than likely at his mansion, though Anders would rather confront the Coterie about their day than the elf; Justice muttered his agreement. Aveline was probably with her beloved guard and, if not with Isabella and Varric, Merrill was at home protecting against the rats and other vermin that attempted to inhabit her home. Not the coziest of house guests, he would bet, though, he did have a similar problem.

Hawke, she was the only unpredictable one out of the group; she could be anywhere with anyone at any given time. She could be with Aveline on patrol, drinking with Isabella and Varric until she couldn't walk, keeping elf-boy on the straight-and-narrow, or even helping rat-proof Merrill's home. At this time of night, she could also be asleep or just at home with Sandal, Bodahn, and her mother, and, of course, Red too, but the Mabari was always at her side. (He smiled lightly, admitting to himself and the world that dogs weren't _all_ that bad, especially the battle-trained Warhounds that the Ferelden's cherished.) He wondered what it was that she happened to be doing at that moment, that _exact_ moment.

He sighed and put down his pen, admitting defeat on the writing, putting it off again, like he always did, like he always would; there was no way it would ever be finished or anything near it. He blew out the few candles near his workspace, glad to have lit one also near his cot so he could find his way, and then blew that one out to. He draped his jacket and tunic over a chair and his boots and cloves were left on the seat itself, slipping under the covers in just his pants and woolen socks. It was cold in Darktown, always cold until the daytime, the only time he kept his place warm was then, for the patients comfort and health. He sighed as he got comfortable under the covers, yet ended up staring above at the dark, blank ceiling.

He really missed her, he realized, thinking, of course, of Marian Hawke, the dark haired girl who had come to his clinic just three years ago, asking for his maps and his help in the Deep Roads. He constantly looks back, wondering if it was a good idea to agree to help her, wondering if he could have saved them both the hurt if he would have rejected her right then and there. No, it couldn't have been that easy, nor should it have been to reject a woman such as her. Beside the fantastic use of her twin blades and her amazing agility, her wit and charm and all around appeal were part of the reasons he decided to lend his help, along with her willingness to help him. Halt_ such thoughts, mage,_ Justice spoke from their mind, _the woman is nothing but a distraction._ Anders definitely disagreed.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Anders woke as if sleep had never come, the Circle under his eyes became more prominent, his physique diminishing from the lack of both sleep and nutrition. Hawke would complain the second she stepped foot in the clinic, forcing food down his throat and trying, though failing, to push him back to his small back room to sleep. He chuckled to himself and pushed himself out of bed, dressing slowly and heading out to greet the lanterns, the sun not even over the horizon. By the time people began filing in, the sun had shown through the windows; once the flow of people had stopped, it was at it's highest point in the day.<p>

It was this point that Anders laid out milk for the few cats he knew were around her some where, or at least to his dearest hope. _Maybe the humans ate them._ The Spirit said simply, voicing it's concern over the innocent mammals.

"Of course you'd care about the cats, but anything about the size of one doesn't matter." He muttered to the Spirit quietly, hoping none would over hear. He hated to admit it, but Justice's fears became his own; what if the refugee's ate them, what if they were tortured, or worse: the pets of Templars. The clearing of a throat made him jump from his worries and stand slowly, meeting the crystal-blue eyes of Hawke.

"What are you doing?" She asked innocently.

"Putting out milk , I miss having a cat around. I think the refugees have scared them off. Or maybe eaten them." He rambled, then smiled at her weakly. Her eyes looked at him curiously, resting of his face, then his body. She shook the argument from her head, he noticed, not bringing to attention his lack of sleep and lack of eating. "I've been meaning to thank you. You don't need to stick your neck out for the mages here, but you have." He sighed slightly, nearly unnoticeable.

"I'm doing it for you. It would kill me to see the Templars lock you up." She whispered, and he wished she hadn't, knowing how close he was to breaking, how close he was to the edge for her, because of her.

"I've tried to hold back." He whispered, not meeting her gaze. "You saw what I almost did to that girl, you've seen what I am. But, I'm still a man, you can't tease me like this and expect me to resist forever." She could still run, still be free of the pair of them, knowing they were no good for her. Not good enough for her. Even Fenris, with his mage-hating ways, could be better for her than he could ever be; he would just hurt her, break her heart into pieces.

"How long will it take before I drive you mad." Hawke muttered, and, without realizing it, Anders brought her closer until his lips were upon hers, hungry, ravenous. He panted, putting everything he had into that kiss, all the passion and frustration and worry that he had about them disappeared as he kissed her. All the little cliche little things, like butterflies and bells and music and angels, all those things you hear about in fairy tales Anders could sense. _Maybe we need a distraction._

* * *

><p><strong>Something I needed to get out of my system. Been writing a long fan fic following Alistair's thoughts through the whole of DA:O. Got writer's block because this thing. Lol. Sorry for the lame name, couldn't think of a good one. <strong>


End file.
